Mary Monroe - God Aint Through Yet

GOD AINT THROUGH YET

Other books by Mary Monroe

God Aint Blind

The Company We Keep

She Had It Coming

Deliver Me From Evil

God Dont Play

In Sheeps Clothing

Red Light Wives

God Still Dont Like Ugly

Gonna Lay Down My Burdens

God Dont Like Ugly

The Upper Room

Nightmare in Paradise in Borrow Trouble

GOD AINT THROUGH YET

MARY MONROE

KENSINGTON BOOKS

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

This book is dedicated to four of the most special people on the planet:
Meredith Riley, Mitzi Dunn, Sandra Diane Ridgeway, and Tara Worthy.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

One of my biggest fans was a fellow author who was loved by so many folks: E. Lynn Harris. I didnt get to meet him in person and it is one of my biggest regrets. It was during one of my first public events that I realized how special he was. The host at the bookstore where I was signing handed me a stack of books to sign for people who had not been able to attend the event. One of those people was E. Lynn Harris. Later, he e-mailed me out of the blue to congratulate me and wish me luck with God Dont Like Ugly . I will miss him.

I am sincerely grateful for the massive support I receive from my other fans, the booksellers, book clubs, radio and TV stations, libraries, my media escorts who take such good care of me on my book tours, the staff at the Ivy restaurant in Beverly Hills, and my hosts at the Venetian, the Wynn, and Bellagio in Las Vegas. I especially appreciate the support of my fans who live outside of the United States and who go out of their way to get copies of my books in a timely manner.

I cant thank my Kensington family enough for treating me so special! My editor, Selena James, is always available when I need her. Adeola Saul and Karen Auerbach, my current publicists, and Maureen Cuddy and Joan Schulhafer, the publicists who took such good care of me in the beginningI love you all. To the honchos Walter Zacharius, Steven Zacharius, and Laurie ParkinI love you all, too! I sincerely appreciate and thank the folks in the sales department for doing so many wonderful things for me. And to everyone else at Kensington, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Andrew Stuart, my agent, continues to guide me in the right direction. Thank you, Andrew.

Lauretta Pierce, thank you for keeping my Web site maintained.

To everyone else, as long as you keep reading, I will keep writing.

Please continue to share your thoughts, comments, suggestions, and opinions (even the mean onesha ha) by e-mailing me at Authorauthor5409@aol.com or by visiting my Web site www.Marymonroe.org as often as possible.

All the best,

Mary Monroe

June 2010

Contents

CHAPTER 1

Richland, Ohio, 1997

M y husband was the last man in town that the people in our close-knit circle of friends expected to have an affair. Why he didnt cheat was as much of a mystery to me as it was to them. When I mentioned to one of my female friends that I was married to a man who didnt cheat, her only question was, Whats wrong with him?

It saddened me to hear that some people thought that there was something wrong with a man who didnt cheat on his wife.

There is nothing wrong with my husband. Hes as normal as any other man, I told that friend.

Ha! If thats the case, hes not normal, that friend told me.

Maybe she was right. If it was normal for a man to cheat, then Pee Wee was not normal.

Despite the fact that I had cheated on my husband just a few months ago (yes, Id cheated, but Ill get to that later) and had accused him of being unfaithful on numerous occasions, I knew in my heart that he had not slept with another woman since he married me. However, one of my concerns was the other women who were dying to get their hands on him.

If you ever break up with Pee Wee, send him to me, another female friend had jokingly suggested. Hes perfect.

When I told my mother what my friend had said, she told me, Girl, as brazen and desperate as women are these days, Id be worried if I were you.

Even after my mothers comment, I didnt worry or complain because I felt secure and comfortable. Looking back on it now, I realize I was too comfortable. That was my first mistake. I had a ringside seat in the eye of a major hurricane, but I was so comfortable I didnt realize that until it was too late.

The day that Pee Wee, my perfect husband, abruptly and cruelly left me for another woman had started out like any other day. It was the middle of March, and still a little too cold for my tastes. Id been a resident of Ohio for over forty years by this time, and I still hadnt adjusted to the weather. When I was a child growing up in Florida, I used to run around naked in our front yard in March. Kids doing such a thing in Ohio, in March, was unheard of.

I had crawled out of bed during the night and turned up the thermostat. When the weather was nice enough, Pee Wee slept in the nude, and I usually slept in something very skimpy. Right after dinner the night before, he had slid into a pair of flannel pajamas. Id wiggled into a pair of purple thong panties, a matching Wonder-bra, and a snug cotton nightgown. Id slid my freshly pedicured feet into a pair of nylon socks. Large pink sponge rollers covered every inch of my head, individually wrapped around my thick, recently dyed black hair. A rose-scented, wrinkle-busting, white gel, one of the many weapons that I used to fight Father Time, covered my face. We looked like we were made up for a Halloween party, but it had been a night of raw passion. I had peeled off my socks and that snug gown like a stripper. Hed helped me remove everything else. Within minutes I had his handprints on parts of my body that hadnt been touched since my last physical exam. And I had assumed positions that I hadnt been in since I gave birth to my daughter. Afterward, I fell asleep in his arms. But when I opened my eyes the next morning, I was in bed alone.

Pee Wee had already left the house by the time I got up and made it downstairs to the kitchen. That was odd, but it wasnt that big of a deal because he didnt do it that often. He usually waited for me to fix his favorite breakfast: grits, biscuits, scrambled eggs with green bell peppers mixed in, and beef bacon. And when I didnt get up in time to cook, he strapped on an apron and did it. The last time he had prepared breakfast, he had served it to me in bed.

For some reason, Pee Wee had not made breakfast this particular morning. Hed left the small clock radio on the kitchen counter on to some rap station (how many people listened to rap music this early in the morning?) and a mess on the kitchen table, which included the morning newspaper folded with the pages out of order, his empty coffee cup, a Krispy Kreme donut box, and an ashtray with the remnants of a thick marijuana cigarette piled up in it. I made a mental note to scold him about leaving a roach in plain view. It was hard enough trying to hide certain things and activities from our inquisitive eleven-year-old daughter, Charlotte, not to mention nosy relatives and friends who dropped in at the most inconvenient times. One day my mother went snooping through my bedroom closet and stumbled across an XXX-rated VHS tape that I often watched with Pee Wee when our sex life needed a shot in the arm. She took me aside and quoted Scripture nonstop for twenty minutes. By the time she got through with me, I felt like I knew every harlot in the Bible personally. Shed excused Pee Wee and reminded me that men were too weak, stupid, and horny to know better.

Pee Wee and I had shared a good laugh over that. Our life together was so idyllic at times that my meddlesome mothers antics and crude comments didnt bother us. I had the best of both worlds. He was not just my husband; he was also my best friend.